The ups and downs of a Shanghai daughter

Since the day Graham died in a sea of flames, I haven’t been able to rid my purview of that constant layer of ash that filled the skies of New York. It surrounded me like fog. Is death not the opposite shore of life? Is it not the only eternal element of life? How do life and death come to know each other?

Since fastening a tie around the neck of the first man to enter my life, I've had a fated relationship with men's neckties. The most memorable moments in this river that has been my thirty-seven years of life, the most soul-stirring events, the often-dreamlike vicissitudes, are all neckties around the necks of men. They were my love, my resentment, my tears, my spirit. They came to represent the knot that bound life with death.

Ties are to men what lipstick is to women. In an instant, a tie adds color and flair. I admire most the ties of Wall Street men for they represent the height of fashion and good taste. The sound of busy feet fills that narrow street, in the shadow of office buildings and skyscrapers, with but a strip of blue sky showing through, men in ties emanate confidence.

Lipstick is a girl's best friend. It fills her with life, makes her sexy and charming. How many times have the amorous lips of the "Can Can" girls at Paris's Moulin Rouge caught the eye of a man? And think of the geisha with her cherry lips and her lifetime of sumptuous luxury and service. What could be more alluring? Not only did those lips brighten many a darkened night, but they lit fires in men's hearts and brought splendor to an era and a people.

Naturally, there's nothing more beautiful than the lipstick on the lips of a bride on her wedding day - it symbolizes happiness. Last year in New York on September 11, that Wall Street Chinese bride who alighted from the white Rolls Royce and entered the church chambers had lipstick down to a science; lipstick was the connect between love and death.

When Graham, the love of her life, put on the bow tie she had given him and had later stained with lipstick, and set out upon that road of no return, she knew he had taken with him the last bow tie in her life. There wasn't a moment when that bow tie, knotted tightly, burning in a sea of flames, didn't float before her eyes. The splotch of red had morphed into an indelible patch of light, a brand that represented the crime of passionate love.

The airplane was passing through layers of rain and clouds on its descent into Shanghai's Pudong International Airport. Is this my home? I looked out the window at the cold rain, the darkened sky and the wild fields below. Along the bank of a murky little river, sat rows of old, dilapidated, gray farmers' shacks.

It seemed as if I were looking down upon a gloomy Flanders School countryside landscape.

I asked myself again, is this really my home? I felt like I was at sea, completely at a loss as to what I should do. For years now, I had been so very far away from home. My yearning for that place had become a part of me. The brown checked scarf my father had worn, the sweater my mother had knit for me, they were like aging photographs in an album; the stamps on the letters that arrived, the phone cards I carried with me: these had become my homeland, a ghostly dream that life was often unable to control. Home was far off; home was right in front of me. But now, I had actually returned home; yet she seemed foreign, so foreign. All right, all right, I said to myself. If it's a foreign land, let's make sure it's your final foreign land. There's no way home.

Once the plane had come to a complete stop, I unbuckled my seatbelt. John had already removed his laptop and coat from the luggage compartment. He walked over and asked, "How come you don't have any luggage on such a long trip?"

I couldn't help but smile, put my head down, throw my small bag over my shoulder, and lift myself from the seat. My body felt light, like a lone goose traversing a dream, traveling step by step towards an unknown shore.

"Thank You. Hope to see you again." A few flight attendants flanked the exit, smiling and bidding farewell to the passengers.

"See you soon," I answered in a small, birdlike voice.

I moved with the flow of the crowd, then stood still for a while taking in the great expanse of airport. Nothing seemed familiar, no memories surfaced to move me. Where had all the memories gone? The familiar dialect of home rang in my ears, but instead of being familiar, it now seemed like a language once used by the ancestors. It didn't sound bizarre, but instead it felt distant, remote, separate.

As I walked past the conveyor belt, John, who was waiting for his luggage, called out in my direction: "Hey, where did you run off to? I've been looking for you. I'm completely out of my element. Can you give me hand?" The genuine look on John's face made it difficult for me to refuse. I stood idly by his side as he lifted the suitcases onto the handcart.

"God! You really don't have any luggage?" John asked again.

" Shanghai is home. I have everything I need here," I said rather indifferently.

"But what about presents? Something to give relatives and friends?" he asked in a confused tone.

"No need. I'm the best gift," I replied.

"Who's picking you up?" He saw me lift my head, push my shoulders back, and walk forward, noticing nothing about the crowd of well-wishers and greeters.

"No one."

"Unbelievable," he shook his head and sighed.

To myself, I said, unbelievable, it is unbelievable. Since when was anything in this world believable?

Two years ago, after we had gotten engaged, Graham and I returned to my hometown, Shanghai, during the Spring Festival and invited all of my friends and relatives to a celebratory banquet. But now…life is here, death is there. I'm on this side; he's on the other side.

Since the day Graham died in a sea of flames, I haven't been able to rid my purview of that constant layer of ash that filled the skies of New York. It has surrounded me like fog. Is death not the opposite shore of life? Is it not the only eternal element of life? How do life and death come to know each other?

Where am I? Where am I going?

"Where to?" John had stopped in front of a taxi.

"Where are you off to? I'll drop you." I opened the door and got in.

John told me to take him to any hotel as long as it was in the heart of the city. I thought for less than a minute and told the driver to take us to the Peace Hotel.

Like a child, John stared out of the taxi window, taking in the street scenes and the children playing. I followed his gaze and almost caught a glimpse of my own childhood. Pudong, on the outskirts of Shanghai proper, seemed like the Shanghai of my youth. The children seemed simple and unsophisticated, the faces of the women a ruddy red. The villages and the waterways that traversed them had stood the test of time. It was as if time had stopped. It was as if this place was no longer part of the new century Shanghai.

To be honest, I wasn't really sure what the new Shanghai was either. In fifteen years, I had only been back once. It was three years ago and I had come back with Graham. We had stayed in one of the business suites at the Portman Ritz-Carlton and spent our time beneath the city lights. I remember one evening, we had been dancing wildly at a club called " New York, New York" when beneath the glittering lights of the disco ball Graham asked, "Sweetheart, where are we?" I was still pretty sober, so whispered into his ear, "In New York, New York". "No wonder…I was wondering how we had made it back to the US. Weren't we just in Shanghai?" He said, a bit drunk.

Shanghai … Shanghai really did seem more and more like New York. American culture was like a virus on a mission to infect the world.

I slowly took my attentions away from the window and brought them back to John. Suddenly a strange notion occurred to me. Who is this stranger? How can we be sitting together, a man and a woman, a pair of would-be lovers? God couldn't have planned for this American man to come crashing into my life at the last moment, could he have?

A stranger. I closed my eyes and rested my head back on the seat. But then again, aren't all people strangers? Hadn't Grandma once told me that when she climbed into the wedding sedan chair at the age of eighteen, she had never even seen my grandfather's face? That same night, those two strangers slept in the same bed as man and wife, and so children were born and the family name was carried on.

I still couldn't figure out why John had said he had to "escape" New York. He was a success in New York. I thought for a quick moment, but then abandoned any interest in him and his "escaping". Just as I knew what that ring on his pinky meant, I was sure I felt absolutely nothing for him.

I've always only wanted to be with one man, and while that man has left this earth, my heart continues to search after him. Within days, a spirit will leave a broken body to be reunited with her love, to complete in heaven the wedding ceremony that never happened in New York.

We'll stand before the gods and with tears in our eyes, say, "I do", "I do". We'll hold each other and kiss. From this moment onward, we shall never again be forced to part; even the god of death will be powerless to separate us. We will have died once, never to die again. What greater beauty…I love you, I love you, Graham…

I had lost my thirst for life in this world and had instead become immersed in dreams of heaven. A scarlet glow filled my face. I radiated health and vitality. I was walking toward the end of this physical life, I was awaiting rebirth, and I was fearless. All was like rose petals floating gently towards earth in a nighttime breeze. In the distance, the first rays of sunlight fell upon a riotous garden of tulips and the air was full of fragrance.

"Miss, are you going to the North Building or the South Building?" the driver brought me back from my musing.

"The North Building. Thanks." I decided for John - the North Building retained more of old Shanghai. So what if it was more expensive.

The car came to a stop outside the North Building of the Peace Hotel on Shanghai's Bund. John immediately paid the driver fifty American dollars. I had originally planned on taking this same taxi home, but the Bund and the Huangpu River were calling me, rising and falling in my heart. I climbed out of the car. "John, this is the Peace Hotel. Go on in. They speak English at the desk. I'm off - goodbye. Thanks for taking care of me during the trip." I pointed toward the front door of the hotel, reached out to shake his hand, turned around and set off.

"Wait, I'd like to invite you to dinner. I'd like to talk to you." One quick step and he was blocking my path.

"Thanks, but no. I feel like taking a walk by myself before I head home," I responded coldly, standing still in my tracks.

"Oh, OK, but can I get your address and phone number? I'd really like to see you again," he implored.

"No, we're just two travelers who happened to meet. Now we've reached our destinations and it's time for the party to break up. If it's meant to be, we'll meet again on the streets of Shanghai, right?" Without glancing back, I took off in the direction of the Huangpu River. Abandoned, he forlornly followed a porter into the hotel.

Huangpu River, my motherly Huangpu River, I've returned to your embrace. You've grown more beautiful. In the dusk, you are as ravishing as the Seine. How many times as I floated in a boat upon the Seine in Paris, or looked out towards the Statue of Liberty during those first few early morning rays of sunlight, did I imagine you shimmering beneath the stars? Like a noblewoman of the Far East, you have faced your trials and hardships and now lay before all who observe you your breadth, your flow, your life, your history. Your current courses through the bloodstream of this daughter of Shanghai. No matter where she wanders, a perpetual love tumbles through the river that is her life.

"I'm back. I'm really back. I'm finally back. And I'll never leave again…" I chanted to myself. All sorts of feelings welled up inside. A wandering, homeless ghost had made her way back, finally.

I stared for a while out over the river. My eyes stopped on " Pearl of the East" Tower, then fell seconds later upon the grayish horizon. Dusk had painted Shanghai in a thin layer of evening mist. I realized I should be making my way home, so I turned and walked towards Baidu Bridge. I felt as if I were being followed and turned to see John coming up behind me. "Oh, my God," I said in surprise.

"I'm sorry. As soon as you left, I felt like a child who had lost his mother. My nerves sent me spinning in circles. I almost felt as if I'd burst into tears at any minute. So I stored my luggage, reserved a room and immediately ran out in search of you. Thank God I've found you," John's warm eyes took hold of me.

He had said the exact same thing Graham used to say. I wasn't sure what to do, so I laughed bitterly for a moment, and then the two of us took off walking. Without a particular destination in mind, we walked the Bund, over the bridge, took the underpass across the street, and continued on along the crowded embankment of the Huangpu River. This strange American walked with his eyes; I walked with my feet only. We traveled in silence, as if we were carrying out some sort of a religious ceremony to rescue a spirit. And we walked…and walked.

The third time we crossed Baidu Bridge, I stopped. By then the sky was dark. You must be hungry, I said. Why don't you let me invite you to dinner? He seemed thrilled, and so I took him into a restaurant called "Jade by the Sea" on a cruise ship docked in the harbor.

"I never would have thought that Shanghai could be this beautiful. What a difference fifteen years makes. The river was smelly and filthy, and when you looked across, you saw a huge black expanse of nothingness," John said with what seemed like a new zest for life.

"Fifteen years ago?" I repeated.

"Yah, exactly fifteen years ago. Unfortunately I left before the New Year arrived. I left on New Year's Eve, departing Hongqiao Airport on my way to Tokyo, Japan. You know how you're always in a hurry when you're on business," he recalled.

This American guy is just too bizarre. He and I had left Shanghai in the same year in the same month on the same day for Tokyo. I couldn't ignore fate. "You're pretty unbelievable. I'd better stay away from you. We just have too much in common." I was trying desperately to fight the attraction.

I took a sip of red wine, then proceeded to swallow the whole glass. I wanted so much for the alcohol to numb my throbbing wound. "John, do you realize? On that same night, fifteen years ago, when you left Shanghai, I also left Shanghai, bound for Japan just like you. I was twenty two and that was my first trip abroad," I pointed to the river's edge. "Over there, I left from that pier. I was a runaway, running away from marriage…" I slipped back into my memories.

I still remember my youthful eyes, devoid of hope, then in a blink of an eye, hope filtered through.

As the ship left the pier, I sobbed in silence. I wanted to jump into those waters. My eyes pierced the surface of the black waters. I wanted the river to wash away the wrong that had been done me. I was pure; I had entered marriage as a virgin. I had known no man before my husband. But in their eyes, I had become a filthy, loose woman. The more I thought of this, the more wronged I felt. Tears filled my eyes. Then I noticed something floating alongside the ship. I looked more closely…"Wah!" It was the body of a woman, her long hair spread out across the surface of the water like wild grass. I was scared half to death and ran quickly back to my cabin. My heart was thumping madly. I had seen myself in the water.

Who was that nameless woman?

What was she trying to tell me?

That death was the only way out?

Should I leave, facing the wrong that been done to me in silence?

Would death mean new life?

Life's journey would continue on the surface of the river of death?

I didn't come out of my cabin until the ship had reached the mouth of the river at Wusong. I looked toward the stars. New Year's Eve fireworks continued to light the sky. My heart made it through the darkness that night. And as the years passed, memory erased that nightmarish image of the woman's body. She never appeared again during those fifteen years. But now she was back and she was trying to tell me something.

I was suddenly entranced. After fifteen years of ups and downs, I finally realized that I had lived because I didn't want to be her. I didn't want to turn into a morbid, frightful ghost, floating like duckweed. Yet I hadn't ever truly left her. I was always on the edge of death. From that fateful day when my Japanese lover, Chishima Amataka, jumped to his death from a cliff, to the morning my beloved Graham wore that bow tie stained with my lipstick to his death, love has been my crime. Ardent women are always evil.

Death has become a blood-red rose that blooms in the spirit of a guilty woman.

"What are you thinking about? The food's arrived. Have something to eat. You didn't eat much on the plane," John said, concerned.

I was back from my wanderings. "I'm sorry, sorry, John. I invited you to dinner, but as soon as I saw the Huangpu River, I got caught up in the memories of her. Life…you just can't get away from memories." I could do nothing but sigh.

John didn't pursue this. He looked at me with a passionate devotion tinged only by a hidden bitterness. And I felt nothing. I felt dead. Graham was the only man for me, the one I loved most. My heart perished in the fire with him. The person sitting here is an empty shell waiting to join him. I've come home for that final burial in the sky. "The leaf is still green. What a pity." It's not a pity. The leaf may still be green, but it's already been torn off by it's own hand; it'll soon wither, dry, and return to the soil.

"Hey, I still don't know your name. Are you going to tell me?" John asked.

"A traveler. Just remember that you once met a true traveler." I looked deeply into his eyes. I hoped he wouldn't easily forget my gaze.

"It's getting late. I'll take you home," he suggested.

"Alright," I agreed calmly.

When the taxi pulled up in front of my home, the tears began to fall. I saw my mother through the window, alone, and my heart broke. What was she doing? I knew that no matter what she was doing, whether she was standing, sitting, walking or sleeping, she would be thinking of me, only of me. From the moment I became a bride, she had worried about me. The older I got, the more she worried. I couldn't just suddenly appear. It would be too much for her. Her heart wouldn't be able to take it. We would end up crying in each other's embrace until sun up.

What should I do? I stood at the curb, unmoving. John touched my shoulder and said, "Let me drop you at home." "No, I can't go home!" I cried and fell into his embrace. "My mother will be scared half to death if I suddenly show up. Take me with you. I'm tired. I can't do this anymore." As I spoke, I could feel my legs give out beneath me. Like a puff of cotton, my entire body went limp…